


Vienna

by speakingwosound (sev313)



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21745084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sev313/pseuds/speakingwosound
Summary: Every five years, Tommy spends Christmas Eve in Vienna.
Relationships: Dan Pfeiffer/Tommy Vietor
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24
Collections: Crooked Secret Santa 2019





	Vienna

**Author's Note:**

  * For [okaystop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/okaystop/gifts).

> I know it doesn't look like it anymore, but the origins of this treat come from your "Tommy goes to Europe and stays in a hostel" prompt, if you replace Lovett with Dan and add fifteen years to that Europe trip. I hope you enjoy it!

“Can I get you anything else?”

The waiter wrings his hands. He’s dressed in a three-piece suit, complete with tails and polished cufflinks, his hair gelled back from his ears and collecting the snowflakes falling from the late December sky. Tommy blinks up at him, into the lamplight that’s doing little to cut through the chill settling deep into his own bones, and wraps his fingers around the half-full cup of coffee that went cold over an hour ago.

“Coffee?” Tommy asks, motioning to the cup.

“Very well, sir.” The waiter bows a little. “Anything else?”

Tommy can feel the sachertorte still sitting heavy in his stomach, but the waiter’s voice is clipped at the edges. From his accent or from the fact that Tommy’s been holed up at one of his most coveted tables for well over four hours, Tommy can’t quite tell, but years working with the State Department have taught him to err on the side of caution. He nods.“Apfelstrudel, if you have it.”

A smile of relief passes over the waiter’s cold, red cheeks. “Good choice, sir. It’ll be right out.”

“Take your time,” Tommy sighs.

The waiter frowns.

Tommy waves him away with a deep sigh, “never mind,” and sits back in his chair. _For Whom the Bell Tolls_ is sitting at his elbow, damp from the snow and untouched since the tram ride he’d taken from his hotel. He’d accounted for the waiting time, not quite for the nerves bouncing his knees and skimming across the bare skin at his wrists and dotting his eyes with floaters unconducive to reading.

At least it had passed the tram ride nicely. The last time Tommy was here on Christmas Eve, he’d stayed in a big, State Department-approved monstrosity with no personality. Five years before that, he’d stayed at the most upscale hostel he could afford on his meager senate office salary, and five years before that-

Well, five years before that, he’d been at the only hostel with a spare room left when he’d rolled into town two days before Christmas with nothing but a _Lonely Planet_ guidebook, a spare change of clothes on his back, and a battered copy of _The Catcher in the Rye _in his pocket. It was old, with a crumbling nineteenth century plaster facade, but it had charm in spades. Tommy would be staying there this time, too, if the building hadn’t been turned into first an upscale grocery store and then a co-working space. 

Besides, now that he’s no longer traveling on a State Department passport, he’d promised himself a charming little B&B with a working fireplace and kaiserschmarrn made fresh in an iron skillet whenever he has a craving.

As if a little jam and cream and fried pancake could make him forget why he’s here.

As if anything could distract him from the way the lamp lights up the narrow Viennese street, the snow and the garland and the smell of cinnamon and cardamom the same as it was all those years ago.

“Your coffee, sir.” The waiter clears his throat. Tommy shakes his head, looking up. Judging by the tilt of his eyebrow, it isn’t the first time he’s tried to get Tommy’s attention.

“Sorry,” Tommy murmurs, handing up his cold cup and trading it for the new one, ignoring the saucer for the warmth of the porcelain against his fingers. He blows over the top of the coffee, strong and bitter and crammed with enough caffeine to keep him up for the next six hours.

He would have died for coffee like this over the last few years. Now, though, Tommy doesn’t need six hours. He only needs- Tommy glances at his phone. He has a string of notifications under the white lights blinking 23:47 back at him. Thirteen minutes. Tommy only needs thirteen minutes, and then he can return to his B&B with his tail between his legs and sleep until his flight leaves. His flight, back to San Francisco and the mountain of marketing emails that have somehow become his life. Back to another five years of _maybe_s and _what if_s and _next time_s.

The worst part is that Tommy had allowed himself to think that this time would be different. He’d allowed himself to hope that this is the year he wouldn’t be sitting alone in the snow, counting down the minutes to midnight. He’d allowed himself to believe that, all this time, he hadn’t been the only one waiting.

When Jon had come to him with a plea - “I can’t have the life I want if I stay” - and a proposal - “I can’t do this alone, but _we_ could, together” - Tommy had allowed himself to see the stars aligning towards a life that he’s been waiting fifteen years to start.

Tommy looks down. 23:59. He sighs, pushing his chair back and reaching for his phone. He has a new message from Jon - _if I did my math right, it’s midnight where u r. merry christmas_ \- and he types back _on my way home, merry christmas_ before pocketing his phone. He digs out a fifty euro note and drops it on the table for the waiter’s trouble, taking a last sip of coffee and already plotting out a walking route past the cathedral as he turns-

And runs into a solid chest.

“Am I too late?” Dan asks, his hands coming up to catch Tommy’s elbows. He’s wearing a work suit, the shirt unbuttoned at his neck under a thin coat made for DC, not Vienna. Tommy can feel his body shivering against Tommy’s chest. He turns his wrist, his fingers dragging over Tommy’s sweater, so that he can check his watch. “It’s not midnight yet.”

Tommy takes a step back so that he can take Dan in. There’s snow sticking to his hair and, as Tommy blinks, he can see the bright young expat he’d fallen for on a magical Christmas Eve so many years ago. 

In the distance, the bells start to chime.

It’s Christmas Day.

Dan’s face is older than it was then. There are wrinkles on his forehead that speak to the fifteen hard years between them, sparks of crystal in his blue eyes that speak to wisdom and longing, a tilt to his smile that promises a million things he’d told Tommy he’d offer someday.

Tommy’s heart flips. _Every five years, _Dan had offered, his hands strong and steady in Tommy’s as they danced under these same street lights outside this same restaurant, _meet me here every five years_.

“I’ve been here,” Tommy whispers. His voice is drowned out by the carolers down the street and the smell of coffee and cinnamon wafting up from the table. “Every five years.”

Dan flinches. His hand is red and cracked with the cold as he holds it out. “I’m here now.”

Tommy nods, slowly. He can see those two young boys, their whole lives spread ahead of them, as they fell in love under Austrian snow. He can see two men now, too, older and wiser and someday, Tommy realizes, isn’t someday at all. He steps forward, fitting his hand in Dan’s. “Happy Birthday.”

Dan laughs, his breath catching in his throat. “Merry Christmas, Tommy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos always appreciated!


End file.
